As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. “They are coming past our table. Everything in this world changed—except human folly. Ah! but you can’t imagine what you are to me and what you mean to me! I suppose there is something mystical and wonderful about all women. Only your horror of a grandfather insisted on coming with me, so I had to wait for him to be ready and travel at his pace.
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